


Sketches

by DeiLove



Series: Sketches [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Nail Polish, Supernatural Elements, Swearing, implied Stucky if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 18:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12439470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeiLove/pseuds/DeiLove
Summary: My best friend and I decided to do a little workshop on our own, giving each other 12 words / phrases / quotes the other had to write about. We had about 10 minutes for each 'prompt', and I decided to share some of them here.





	1. Aquarium

**Author's Note:**

> My native language is Hungarian, so if I made any mistakes, please let me know so I can learn from them.  
> Also, I wrote two out of the twelve prompts in Hungarian, and if you really want to read them, I can be persuaded into translating them to English.

The basement was dark, the crescent moon not providing enough light through the small windows. The door was ajar, creaking every now and then, as the storm shook the house.

The creatures in the cells and aquariums looked unafraid, staring at the door and through the windows, waiting for a chance to escape. The electricity hadn’t gone out yet, and the bars of the cells of the shapeshifters were buzzing with it. The big aquarium’s water clearing system still ran, even though its occupant, a mermaid with sharp, greenish gray fins and blood red hair had tried to break it several times.

A lightning bolt lighted up the sky, its sound loud and close. It made the creatures look even stranger, even more dangerous than they looked in daylight. One of the shapeshifters threw himself at the bars, electrocuting himself and falling to the ground.

The door opened, and a girl stepped through.

‘I hope you’re not trying anything,’ she said, with a crossbow in her hands.


	2. Crusade (past or future)

It was their third day on the planet, so much like their home yet different in many ways. Its inhabitants were pagans – or at least that’s what they thought. They hadn’t heard of Lucifer and his demons, instead, they feared and prayed to the nature and its forces.

It wasn’t the first time they tried to reason with them, tried to save their souls, but the creatures didn’t listen to them. The soldiers of the squad became more and more fed up with the creatures, as most of them were on the planet for the second or third time, instead of being with their families on their home planet. They wanted to call the demons, let them possess the leaders of the creatures, but Lucifer’s servers hadn’t yet allowed it.

As the second Sun of the planet started to settle, the soldiers made bonfires. They all prayed to Lucifer, then went to their shelters and tents, only leaving a handful of guards awake.

When morning came, the sky turned to blood, both the Suns glowing scarlet instead of their usual yellow-orange.

‘What happened in the night?’ the soldiers asked each other, but none of them knew the answer.

‘Lucifer listened to our prayers, brothers. We can go home,’ said the eldest of the servers, bringing out the virgin from her tent to sacrifice as a show of gratitude.


	3. Perfect love story is a highly subjective sense

They say love at first sight is the perfect love story. They say growing up together is the perfect love story. They say a Disney-story is the perfect love story. They say growing old together is the perfect love story. They say bringing up the next generation is the perfect love story.

But they never say hate is the perfect love story. They never say Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet is the perfect love story – they call them children, they call their story a tragedy.  
They say our story is cold, full of hatred and death. They say from hatred cannot come love. They say wanting to watch the world burn is crazy, that it is sick. They say everyone should find their other half, their opposite, the person that makes them feel whole again. They say rough edges will lead to pain.

They are wrong. We hate each other, yet it is stronger than whatever love they get. We don’t fit, we are not opposites, we do not agree on many things. We fight and bite and hit and kick and break and harm each other. We are each other’s death. We won’t have children. We won’t grow old together. We won’t grow old.

We pull the trigger together.

It is our love story. And it is perfect.


	4. Speaking languages to show off

I was bored out of my mind. The teacher wanted us to do teamwork, but nobody chose me – I didn’t choose anyone. I didn’t know them. I was the new kid, the outcast, the guy who would eventually leave, so why bother get to know him?

The teacher saw that I was still sitting alone, my book in my hand – she probably couldn’t read the title, as it was in Russian, but she would disapprove if she knew what I was reading. She walked over to me, telling me to join a group of three. Two of them were wearing the jersey of the basketball team, but the third, the small guy, was half-covered in paint. He looked nice, if I didn’t know better, I would have wanted to be his friend. But I knew better.

‘Really?’ one of the basketball players asked. The teacher shrugged, and went back to her desk. I just narrowed my eyes.

‘Was ist dein Problem?’ I asked in German. The guy clearly didn’t understand me, so I repeated it in all the languages I knew. Well, all except for English and Spanish. The little guy started snickering after I said it in French, so I knew he spoke it too. The jocks looked like they wanted to murder us, when we started chatting in French, and actually doing what we were supposed to do.

When the teacher walked around, she was clearly surprised, that all our notes were in French, with some German and Russian thrown in here and there.


	5. ‘I’ve got a plan’ cliché

We’ve been on the run for days now. Our backpacks were full of water and food, and the only clothes we had were the ones we were wearing. The forest was cold, but we were moving fast, and didn’t really feel it. In the nights, we huddled close together, to keep each other warm, because a fire would have just given away our location.

Yet, they were getting close. We still had a few days’ worth trip ahead of us, but we could hear their wolves every now and then. So far, we were lucky, as the wind hadn’t betrayed us yet.

But luck runs out sooner or later, we kept telling each other.

It did.

One of the groups chasing us got ahead of us, and their wolves were howling loudly. We were still in the forest, but it wasn’t as thick as before. The wolves had a better chance catching us with how few and far between the trees were.

‘We’re surrounded,’ one of the girls whispered.

‘Don’t worry,’ I told them. ‘I’ve got a plan.’ And I did. I knew this part of the forest, I basically grew up here. That’s why I was the one leading our little group. I knew all the traps. The wolves and their owners didn’t.

‘Then you’d better do something, because they’re getting too close!’ someone shouted at me.

I sighed, but they weren’t close enough just yet. Just a few more steps…

I pulled down a branch, and strikes of electricity ran through the air, burning all of our chasers. They all fell to the ground dead.

My friends looked at me, surprised. I just grinned at them. ‘Told you I had a plan.’


	6. A lot of swearing

‘What the fuck?’ the brunet shouts when he sees his door. He just got back from a business trip, tired as hell, wanting nothing but his bed and half a day’s worth of sleep, but his door is ajar, hanging on only one hinge. He runs a hand through his hair, then steps into his apartment.

Everything is in a disarray. Clothes are covering the ground, his couch was stabbed several times, the drawers’ content on the floor, even is precious books scattered around the apartment.

‘What. The. Fuck?’ he screams, as he sees his bedroom. Someone is under his duvet, though the bed is missing. He checks on the guy, and pulls out his phone.

‘Fuckin’ junkies,’ he mutters, then calls the police. Insurance will cover most of the damage, he hopes.

After the police cleared everything, they tell him to find a place to sleep for the next few days, so he calls his best friend.

‘Hey, I know it’s pretty late, but I need a huge favor.’

‘Shoot,’ says his best friend, voice thick with sleep.

‘Those freakin’ junkies I told you about broke into my apartment while I was away, and I don’t have a bed anymore.’

‘Shit. Oh, come over, you can have the guest room as long as it takes to fix your place. Just bring some beer.’

‘You’re the fuckin’ best, pal,’ he says, grabbing his suitcase. He still has some clean clothes in there. ‘Fuck, I’m so sorry, but I really don’t have anywhere else to go.’

‘No problem. Hurry up, I’m ordering pizza.’

‘Thanks, punk.’

‘You’re welcome, jerk.’


	7. Landscapes and Nail Polish

It was that guy again. The Nail Polish Guy. He was skinny and blond and had ridiculously big, black-framed glasses and wore a beanie and brown boots. He came in every few days, went to the makeup section, spent there at least an hour, then bought a ridiculous amount of nail polish.

The cashiers knew him by now. Or rather, they recognized him, and they even placed bets on how many nail polishes he’d buy the next time, but nobody knew what he did with them. But today, a new cashier was in, who had only heard about Nail Polish Guy, but hadn’t yet seen him. He was therefore unprepared when the blond dropped about two dozen bottles of nail polish in front of him.

‘What the hell?’ he jumped a bit. The blond just smirked. ‘Oh, you’re the Nail Polish Guy,’ he said as he started scanning the bottles. ‘I know it’s not my place to pry, but what the hell do you need so much nail polish for?’

‘I’m an artist,’ Nail Polish Guy simply said.

‘Artist? What, you paint portraits with nail polish?’ the cashier asked incredulously.

‘Landscapes, not portraits, but yeah.’

‘How’d you do that?’

‘Well, I could show you some time,’ the blond grinned, paying for the nail polish, then grabbing a pencil from one of his pockets and jotting down his number on the receipt. ‘Text or call, if you’re interested,’ he said, then he grabbed the bottles and, winking at the frozen cashier, walked out of the shop.


	8. “Singularity”

The center piece was actually a series of six pictures, all of them about the same man, his face never on display. The painter captured him while dancing, the body lean and sweating, the moves showing even through the canvas.

The rest of the exhibition was marvelous too, the colorful landscapes and the graceful ballerinas, but none of them showed that singularity, that uniqueness the painter was known for so obviously as the center piece did. Many collectors wanted the series for themselves, but each time the painter answered that it wasn’t for sale. It was too precious, too personal for him, but he never added that last part. Nobody needed to know who the model was.

He glanced at the bar, smiling, as he caught sight of the ballet dancer talking with some of his friends. He looked right back at the painter, smirking, then nodding at the center piece, raising his glass of champagne. The painter copied the movement, knowing that they would have enough time to celebrate later.

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you might have noticed, some might not, but in some scenes I was picturing Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers as the two characters. Now, I might turn those scenes into bigger works, if anyone is interested, so let me know if you want to read that!


End file.
